The classroom buzzed with idle chatter, a low murmur that ebbed and flowed like waves against the shore. The morning sun slanted through the tall windows, casting long shadows over the polished wooden floor. Dust drifted lazily in the light, disturbed only when someone shifted in their seat.
I sat in my usual spot—back row, farthest corner, right by the window. The safest place. The easiest to blend in.
Outside, the world moved at its usual, predictable pace. In the courtyard below, students lounged beneath the trees, kicked a soccer ball across the patchy grass, or gathered near the vending machines, whispering and giggling about things that didn't concern me. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang, signaling the start of another period in another part of the building.
I exhaled softly, turning my gaze away from the window.
This was my world—a carefully constructed existence of silence and obscurity.
No one paid me any attention. They never did.
I wasn't invisible, not exactly. People didn't ignore me on purpose, nor did they go out of their way to acknowledge me. I was just… forgettable. Unremarkable in every way that mattered.
My black hair was slightly unkempt, but not messy enough to stand out. My uniform was neat, yet completely lacking in any sort of personal flair. My posture was relaxed—never slouched enough to draw a teacher's scolding, never too stiff to seem unusual. Even my voice, when I was forced to speak, was just the right volume—never loud enough to be remembered.
I had spent two years mastering the art of being no one.
It was safer that way.
My fingers drummed absently against my desk as I glanced at the clock. The second hand ticked forward at an agonizing pace, each movement a reminder that the day had barely begun. Another ordinary, uneventful day.
Or at least, that's what I thought.
Then, the classroom door slid open.
The quiet clack of shoes against the floor cut through the hum of conversation. A shift in the air followed—subtle, but undeniable.
I felt it immediately.
A disturbance.
Something—or someone—had disrupted the careful balance of the room.
The change was small, but I noticed it. I always noticed. The way the low murmurs sharpened into hushed whispers. The way a few students leaned forward, eyes flickering toward the doorway. The way even the air seemed to hum with anticipation.
A new student.
I didn't look. I didn't need to.
The whispers started almost instantly.
"Whoa… she's pretty."
"Did you hear? She transferred from a different city."
"I bet she's super smart."
I tuned them out. Whoever she was, she didn't matter to me. Just another face, another person I had no reason to remember.
But then—I felt it.
A presence. Watching me.
Slowly, reluctantly, I lifted my gaze.
And met her eyes.
For a moment, everything else faded. The voices, the creak of chairs, the rhythmic ticking of the clock. It all disappeared, leaving only the silent weight of recognition between us.
She stood at the front of the classroom, poised yet relaxed, like she had already mapped out the entire room the second she walked in. Long, dark purple hair framed her face, falling in gentle waves over her shoulders. Her uniform was the same as everyone else's, yet somehow, on her, it looked effortlessly elegant.
But it was her eyes that held me captive.
Sharp. Focused. Knowing.
She recognized me.
My stomach twisted. This wasn't good.
My fingers curled into a fist beneath my desk, my pulse hammering too loudly in my ears. I hadn't seen her in years. Not since I left everything behind. Not since I buried that part of myself.
So why was she here?
Why now?
My mind raced for answers, for explanations, for anything that made sense. But before I could process it—before I could even look away—
She smirked.
And then, to my absolute horror, she spoke.
"Yo, Ken."
Loud enough for the entire class to hear.
Heads turned. Conversations halted. Every pair of eyes in the room locked onto me.
And just like that—
I wasn't invisible anymore.
The murmurs started almost immediately.
"Wait, she knows him?"
"Ken? That Ken?"
"No way. Since when does he talk to anyone?"
I forced my expression to stay blank.
"...I don't know you," I said evenly.
Ayane's smirk didn't waver, but her eyes darkened. "That's cute," she said, tilting her head. "Lying to my face after everything."
A sharp chill crawled up my spine.
"What does she mean?"
"Did something happen between them?"
I ignored them. Focused only on her.
"You're mistaken," I muttered.
She let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "Mistaken? Right." Her gaze flickered to the teacher, who had been watching the exchange with mild confusion. "Well, this is awkward. Should I introduce myself, or do you want to pretend a little longer?"
The teacher cleared his throat, oblivious to the tension. "Ah, yes. Everyone, this is Ayane. She's just transferred here. Please make her feel welcome."
Ayane turned back to me, her voice lower now, meant only for me.
"You look good, Ken." A pause. "For someone I should've buried a long time ago."
My fingers curled into a fist beneath my desk.
She wasn't just here. She wasn't just looking for me.
She wanted me to know that she had come to destroy me.
And this—
This was only the beginning.